


YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE ★

by elfroot



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Boys In Love, Childhood Friends, Emotional Sex, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Hugs, M/M, Matchmaking, Pirates, Sappy, Smut, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-27 01:14:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5028028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfroot/pseuds/elfroot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Rutherford has been nursing old wounds for so long, he doesn’t remember what it’s like to be happy. Isabela plays the matchmaker, because she’s getting tired of watching her old friend suffer and long for something, <i>someone</i>, he once reluctantly left behind (art by froschkuss @ tumblr).</p>
            </blockquote>





	YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE ★

**Author's Note:**

> since that’s a scene (heavily edited to fit the vibes of this drabble) taken from a fic i haven’t yet posted, don’t hesitate to ask if there’s anything that might sound unclear.
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" _Belaaa_."

Cullen barely recognizes her name, thick and slurred on his tongue—a warning or an invitation, he can't decide—and he sighs weary on his chair, gently rocked by the constant creaking of the hull. _The Perseverance_ carves into the waves, sleek tosses of her fine bow as they sail, and he can feel the pace of his ship, even here, in the privacy of his cabin, the same languid tempo across his lap. Isabela straddles him shamelessly, her breasts swelling, spilling out of her corset, and Cullen leans back, lethargic, eyes half-shut in the haze of his alcohol-induced stupor—his cock slides slow through the parted lips of her sex, and he hums with the motions.

It's how it always starts. A game of Wicked Grace, _too much rum_ , and he finds himself at her mercy, cambric shirt removed to reveal hard planes of taut muscles, and trousers unlaced, shaft jutting hard and wide for her, and she rides him, a lazy rhythm that drives him crazy. _She knows_. It's why she does what she does, and she grins sly as he moves, unhurried, squeezing her breast and plumping the heavy weight in his calloused hand, and he licks the upper swell of her, lifting, kneading, until his mouth finds her nipple and _sucks_ , her fingers twisted sharp in his hair. She arches her back, aching for him, and she hisses and he moans, feeling the pull of her grip and suckling harder, his free hand reaching between them and finding her, _there_ , swollen and wet for him, and his cock glistens with her essence. He strokes her, the roughened pad of his finger languorous over her clit, and he _thrusts_ , upward, nibbling across her breasts as he shafts her sex with his cock, thumbing both her nub _and_ the crest of his length every time he surges forward.

It's never been anything more than this, _sex_ , unattached, but there's fondness in her eyes, _between them_ , never of the romantic kind yet always powerful, a solid bond. He's never allowed anyone else to touch him like she does. He _would_ have, long ago, before the core of his world shattered, and it nags at the back of his mind and it _stings_ , a constant buzz in his skull as his eyes roam askance, remnants of another life caught in the periphery of his vision.

 _Alistair_.

Cullen's chest heaves at the sight of him, asleep in the futon beside his berth, and his jaw clenches and he rolls his hips, grasping Isabela's with a frown creasing his face. She gasps as the head of his cock nudges her, sliding in slick, barely an inch, and he withdraws, _over and over_ , until she moves faster and he grips her harder, gaze drowsy, riveted on Alistair. _He looks so young_. So candid, sprawled on the settee, ginger hair pell-mell and darker lashes fluttering upon freckled cheeks, the half-closed wooden shutters slashing his skin in golden light. He looks so... _beautiful_ , broad-shouldered and lean, a well-defined yet bulky stomach that speaks volumes of his penchant for sweets, and Cullen winces, a mix of shame and nostalgia as he remembers, _the bastard prince_ , his friend when they were all but teenagers, _two boys_ , and his late father's voice creeps into his mind.

_You can't, son. Not him. You know why, don't you?_

He remembers nodding, uneasy, a lump in his throat that he still feels, the same burden that frays his breath now, and he cringes and he tears his gaze away, Isabela's boring into him.

"...What? he croaks, her nails digging into his shoulders as she leans in, her face framed by the dark veil of her hair and her eyes bright with a devilish gleam.

"It's him, isn't it?" she smiles, nipples beading hard and tight against his chest, and he shakes his head, willing the fog in his mind to dissipate.

It doesn't.

"You've been distracted, lately."

"I'm _always_ distracted," he grouses, and with good reason, considering the threat of privateers, the hidden supplies of red lyrium _and_ the plague.

"Not like this," she insists, and they've stopped moving and she scarcely notices, his grip loose around her now, her slick sex pulsing warm and immobile over his shaft. "I know this face, kitten. I know _you_. And you talk in your sleep."

"Don't be ridicul—"

"Your cock's softened, Cullen."

He stills, eyes widening as he stares down, and he flushes and he whines and he _scowls_ , eyebrows shot in bashful irritation.

"I—"

"Shhhh," she presses a finger to his mouth, silencing him before stealing a light kiss, and she grins, leaving him dumbfounded as she shifts away, up to her feet, languid sways of her hips until she reaches the man asleep on the sofa.

What in the Maker...?

She wakes him up, _Alistair_ , caresses upon his torso, and Cullen watches him lean into her touch, blinking hazy and up at her with a smile that tightens his chest, and he wrenches his eyes away and he glares, _down his lap_ , gritting his teeth as his hand curls into a fist.

He doesn't know what she's doing. He doesn't _want_ to know, grabbing the half-empty bottle of rum atop the table and doing his best to ignore them, conflicted, _puzzled_ , his senses still clouded as the warm liquor runs down his throat. It doesn't do much to clear his mind, and he sways with the ship and he closes his eyes, shoving his face into the crook of his arm and nodding off there, hunched and pathetic, over the table.

He doesn't sleep, not really, merely groaning as he loses all notions of time, mind blank, and a single touch stirs him back to awareness, a finger hooked around a strand of blonde curls to urge his face up. He sees her, _Isabela_ , he sees her through heavy-lidded eyes, her silhouette hazier than it should, and he doesn't know how but he finds himself on his feet again, trousers hanging loose around toned hips. _She disappears_. He squints, raking a hand through his hair, and he hears her voice, behind him now, _go on, kitten_ , and he turns and it _spins_ , and Alistair stands right in front of him.

 _Maker's breath_.

His own sifts into his lungs, sharp, _short_ , and he stills before him, wary as golden eyes lock into amber. _Alistair_. There's an easy smile on his lips and dimples in his cheeks, and Cullen wavers on his knees, a muffled sound of anguish caught in his throat. _He's so close_. Heat radiates from his freckled skin and he can feel his warmth, however much he doesn't want to, and he winces and he _hisses_ , stifled, incapable of walking away, Alistair's gaze so gentle, _flushed_ , a faint question in his eyes.

"I..."

Cullen tries to answer, but his voice doesn't sound like his own and he presses his lips together, shaking his head, _no_ , just before they part again, moist now, a strained sigh as he feels his touch. It heaves out of him in shaky notes, Alistair's fingers seeking his own, and Cullen looks down, watching his hand sliding up his arm and leaving goosebumps in its hesitant wake, and he gazes up and he finds him again, his breath mingled with his.

 _Alistair_...

His nose brushes against his and his lashes flits heavy, the broad of his body drifting in, _closer_ , skin against skin as chests rise and graze, a long shiver causing his nipples to harden. _It isn't right_. He knows, and still he feels alive here, _sober_ , a strange and quiet burgeoning of emotions he could never quite quell, gripping his heart, and it _pounds_ , wrapped in such tenderness it _hurts_ , and his gut feels tighter.

 _Forgive me_ , he thinks, a distant memory of his father quickly flashing in his mind, because if he doesn't do this, now, he'll never forgive _himself_.

Their foreheads touch before anything else does, and he closes his eyes as Alistair nuzzles him, so light yet so warm, and his pulse thrums wild and his nostrils flare, eyebrows pinched in sweet agony. _Heartache_. It's what it feels like—he's denied him, _them_ , for so long, and it seems unreal, _too real_ , a relief he grasps with shaky hands, the tip of his fingers trembling against Alistair's temples.

 _Cullen_ , he hears, so soft as noses brush and evade, and it's all he needs.

He dips down, pressing his mouth to his once, twice, cupping his face with more strength than he intends as his breath leaves him in a long rush, and Alistair moans the same solace, parting his lips for him and arching against him, catching him in a grip every bit as desperate as Cullen's hands around his head. He pulls him in, _hard_ , and his chest heaves against his own, arousal tingling across his nerves as he swallows, the bulge of his erection tightly pressed against his own.

" _Alistair_ ," he can't help but sigh, but his name is lost on his tongue and he hums into his mouth, and they kiss urgent and they moan frenzied, and Cullen can't keep his hands off him.

They roam free, across his torso and down the sides of his upper body, and he pushes, _against him_ , an awkward tumble of tangled limbs as Alistair's back hit the wooden wall. He groans with the motion, a slight wince as he suckles on his neck, and Cullen feels his cock, poking out of his trousers and nudging his own, engorged tips rubbing slow. It feels better than it should, and Cullen frees the both of them in a single feverish gesture, grinding rough against his naked flesh and trailing open-mouthed kisses across his shoulders, Alistair's fingers restless in his hair.

There's a sound behind him, _appreciative_ , and he vaguely recalls the presence of Isabela in his cabin and it _should_ rein him in, but he's so far past caring. Alistair writhes under his caresses and _he_ trembles with him, thrusting, bucking, and Cullen reaches for more, cupping his arse and lifting him with a deft roll of his hips. He knows from the way Alistair kneads his buttocks that they need the same thing, a connection, _mine, yours_ , the same they've always felt here, beating in their chests now, and he licks avid into his mouth and he pants his name, over and over, fisting their cocks and growling low as Alistair moans _yes_ , wrapping his thighs around his waist with such wanting eagerness Cullen nearly spills himself over his stomach.

And yet it's not how he wants him.

He's so used to commanding, barking orders and training men, and still he can't voice what he needs here, stalling as Alistair squirms in his embrace. Captain Rutherford, fierce and inspiring fear everywhere they sail, and now, in Alistair's arms, he finds himself much shyer, staring up through his daze with a soft plea in his eyes, and Alistair frowns and Cullen _breathes_ , looking away, down, crestfallen...

...until he feels Alistair's touch upon his cheek, the same measure of warmth in his gaze, and he kisses him again, slower this time, holding him close as a long tremor runs through his body.

 _He understands_.

Alistair drops back on his feet, lightly pushing against his chest and encouraging him to move, roles reversed, shifting until Cullen stands nearer to the bed and febrile against the wall, pinned and framed by Alistair's muscular figure. He cups his thigh, urging him up ever so gently, and Cullen obliges, his own fingers splayed across the expanse of his torso, hard and ridged beneath his palms, and he steals his breath away. He looks so much like the boy he remembers, the boy he left behind, a fine man now, smiling at him with a tender glint in his eyes, and Cullen's heart swells as he leans in, rubbing their noses together and sighing hard, freeing himself from the last shreds of his reservations.

There is no turning back.

He wants him, and he shows him, slanting his mouth over his in slow, eager need, and he reaches out for the night table, blindly searching for the flask of oil Isabela left there. He finds it, nearly knocking it off in his hurry, and they catch it together as foreheads bump and they laugh, chuckle, _boyish_ , a lingering and adoring stare that causes Cullen's cheeks to redden.

His chest has never felt so full before.

Alistair's skin is just as flushed, a bashful curve twisting the corner of his lips, and they pour the oil over his length, fingers laced as they stroke up and down. Cullen's cock jerks at the sight, thick and bobbing under its own weight, and Alistair shudders, his mouth hanging parted over his as he grabs his shaft and rubs them together, fingers slick and cocks as well.

He reaches behind Cullen, and Cullen braces himself, thigh firmly hooked around his waist, distracted by the constant friction of his erection sliding up against his, tightly squeezed. He barely feels the intrusion, careful, steady, and Alistair kisses him with the same reverence Cullen offers, hearts beating fast, _together_ , skin grazing as they push, _squirm_ against each other, as if never close enough. They _aren't_ close enough. Alistair seems to be of the sae mind, nuzzling him as a quiet whimper spills over his lips, and Cullen writhes with him, gripping his shoulders and _leaping_ , fully wrapped around him now and giving his friend, his _mate_ , the only man he's ever loved, the perfect angle for what they need.

There's a curse on his tongue as Alistair guides his cock underneath his own, nudging his balls once and rubbing slow, a teasing motion that has Cullen muffling another moan. He bucks up, ready for him, and he feels the oil drizzling down his thighs, slick between the cheeks of his arse, and it's where Alistair prods him, thick as he presses the head of his cock against him, breaching him ever so slightly. He holds his breath, Cullen notices, as if afraid to hurt him, and the sight of him there, giving him another chance, so handsome with his hair tousled, lips wet and swollen from the touch of his own... _it stirs him alive_ , love and lust, burning his nerves anew.

He doesn't push farther in, the crown of his cock squeezed as he allows Cullen to adjust to his size, to the thicker invasion, and they pant together, Alistair's slow and shallow thrusts snatching a litany of staccato notes out of Cullen's throat. _Maker's breath_. He feels him, large and twitching, _inside him_ , and it stings as he stretches him, the momentary ache eased away by the kisses Alistair flutters across his cheek, his nose, his chin, and he kisses him back with the same kind of warmth, moving his hips with him, needing him deeper. Alistair indulges him and they cling to each other, his cock sliding in, and Cullen gasps with the motion and he _growls_ , low, throwing his head back in fervid abandon.

They still then, lost in the feel of each other's warmth, and they sigh breathless and they shake, _shudder_ as Cullen cranes his neck and dips forward, and he rests his forehead against his.

"Looks like I've finally got myself a rare prize..." Alistair wheezes through a smile, a chuckle that flows soft and warm upon Cullen's lips. "The fierce, indomitable _Sea Lion_ , oddly _and_ willingly tamed in my grasp... Hm. Maybe I should _pinch_ myself... It doesn't seem real."

"Nothing's ever felt more real than _this_ ," Cullen rasps, and he seeks his hand, taking it from where it rests upon his hip and bringing it up, delicate, _to his chest_ , just over the part of him that's always been his. "You've had me wrapped around your finger before I was _anything_ , Alistair, back when I was nothing more than Curly. You knew me. You _know_ me. You're... the only one."

"The only one who... knows you? What of... you _know_. Bela...?"

Cullen's fingers tighten around his, soft nudges of his nose against his cheek, and his lips touch his and their gazes lock, his voice a mere whisper.

"You're the only one," he simply repeats, heart full, _meaningful_ , because there's only ever been him, and Alistair closes his eyes, securing him closer against his body, trapped in his warmth, and Cullen feels his smile over his mouth.

"Then _I_ am a lucky man..." he breathes, and he moves once more, filling him as moans echo louder between them, an exchange of sighs lost around lazy tongues.

Cullen loses all notions of time again, _for different reasons_ , and skin slaps against skin as flesh slides slickened with sweat, his back chafed from the constant assault of Alistair's hips. The rhythm breaks, shifting from sluggish to impatient, _slow again_ , a changing cadence that matches the scattered notes of their moans, the urgency of their kisses, and Alistair's legs ultimately give in, forcing them elsewhere, intertwined limbs on Cullen's bed.

He's so close. Cullen writhes underneath him, the hard ridges of Alistair's stomach rubbing and squishing his cock in delicious friction, until he pulls away, just enough to prop himself on his knees and lean down, Cullen's arse secured on his thighs as he palms his shaft and closes his mouth around the crown, causing Cullen to grip the sheets with white-knuckled strength.

" _Alistair_ ," he groans, loud and long, and his toes curl and his hips churn, so violently he fears he might knock him off the bed, but he doesn't, wheezing instead as Alistair gently suckles the head of his cock, stroking him as his own twitches inside him.

He comes. Cullen _feels_ him, spurting hard and thick as his tongue bathes and circles his swollen glans,  and Cullen is quick to follow. He bursts into his mouth, cum dribbling down his length as Alistair shakes with the force of his orgasm, never leaving him, licking, moaning, and Cullen _whimpers_ , vision blurred, trembling with every jerk of his cock.

It'll take a few moments before he can breathe again, _properly_ , deafened by his own pulse, and Alistair withdraws slowly and he feels oddly _empty_ , but not for long. He feels him stretch above him, and for one second he thinks he might leave, panic crowding his chest... quickly replaced by his hand, gentle over his heart as he snuggles up to him, and Cullen turns relieved, towards him, gathering him closer into his arms.

He falls asleep as they nuzzle each other, wrapped in warmth and bodies intertwined, peaceful, right where he belongs, and as slumber overtakes him, a quiet sound rises, _sifts_ through his senses, _Isabela_.

_And they say drinking never solves anything! Now don't let him go again, you stubborn fool. He's a keeper... and don't you worry about me. I have plenty of booty to... plunder._

And he smiles, _sighs_ as he hugs Alistair tighter, free at last, his friend, his mate.

His forever.

 


End file.
